


Crossing The Troll Bridge

by SnowWhiteKnight



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/M, Fluff, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-01 02:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11476548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowWhiteKnight/pseuds/SnowWhiteKnight
Summary: Once upon a time, there was an evil troll who guarded a bridge with great ferocity...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SassyEggs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyEggs/gifts).



“Once upon a time, there was a troll, so mean and so vile, that anyone who dared to cross his bridge had to… to…” Rickon frowned and looked down, his brows furrowed in concentration. “Um… they were eaten!”

“Rickon, don’t be stupid,” Arya said. “Trolls don’t eat humans. They just squish them and turn them into pillows.”

“Arya!” their mother cried out in horror. “Don’t be saying things like that to Rickon! He’s too young for that sort of talk. So are you, for that matter.”

Arya rolled her eyes as Sansa stifled a laugh. It was always the same thing. Their mother always claimed that everyone was _too young_ for _such things._ Their other brothers, Robb and Bran, were off with their father, learning how to fight in the army. It was an annual and mandatory time for all male citizens. Her father had served his time, and didn't need to go back, but having two of his sons in training was enough to convince him. They weren’t due back for another few months. Catelyn Stark ran the family store in Eddard’s absence, something she absolutely hated. Being the next eldest child, Sansa often accompanied their mother to the shop. They discovered that Sansa had a knack for haggling, and she had been put in charge of selling their wares, but they didn't know the secret to her success. Sansa smiled to herself whenever they praised her for dealing with a difficult customer, telling her she was so courteous that no one could ever say no to her. It was a little joke to her, because it wasn't her courtesy, it was her empathic ability. She could literally _feel_ the customers’ emotions and react accordingly. She had no idea where she had gained this power from, but she did not question it, nor did she speak of it, lest she be branded a witch and burned at the stake or shoved in an oven. No, she kept it to herself and ran the front of their shop.

Catelyn and Arya ran the back end of the shop, accounts and inventory, respectively. Arya complained constantly that she should have been allowed to train in the army as well, but there was a strict “no females” rule that their father would not tolerate her breaking. Robb had promised to teach her everything he learned once he returned.

“Sansa, are you sure you can make this trip by yourself? It’s an awful long way to the Harbor…” She could feel her mother’s doubt and hesitation. Normally, her father would make the trip once a month into town and sell or trade their goods, cloth. The Starks were well known as the purveyors of good, sturdy fabrics to the general public.

“I will be fine, Mother,” she said in a soothing tone. “It’s only half a day’s journey, and once I cross the Troll Bridge, I’ll meet up with the Paynes, who will accompany me the rest of the way. I’ll be back at the end of the week!”

Catelyn continued to frown, but nodded. Sansa smiled. Catelyn was tense but ultimately, she knew that it was best for their business to allow Sansa to make the trip.

**********

The day Sansa left her village, the sky was bright and beautiful. She had a good feeling about her trip. Sansa had never even accompanied her father on his previous trips, but she knew the way was well marked and that the only blight was the Troll Bridge. Father had never confirmed it, but it was said that a terrible monster of a troll lived under it, and if you weren’t quiet, he would eat you. At least, that's what Robb had told her.

She approached the bridge around midmorning. It was ominously placed over the violently flowing river, in the shade of unbelievably tall trees. Her heartbeat quickened with every step the horse took, drawing her cart closer and closer. Just as she was about to cross the bridge, a voice called out, “Halt!”

She drew the reins back. Her horse, Whiteheart, did not like it and made it known to her. Movement in the shadows drew her attention, her eyes growing wide as a _huge_ man approached her, his face half scarred by burns and the attempt to hide the scars with his hair making him look more menacing than the scowling alone was accomplishing.

“Where the hell do you think you're going…” he growled at her. “This is a _toll_ bridge. You need to pay a _toll.”_

“Toll… oh! I thought… Everyone calls this the _Troll_ Bridge.”

The man rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake… trolls don’t live in these parts. They live in the Realm of the Forgotten, girl. Driven back by the Good King of the North. Everyone should know that, but nooooooo. Big scary man lives _next_ to a bridge and _not under it,_ I'll have you know, and suddenly ‘oh! A big bad troll is out to get us!’” he said in a falsetto voice. “Idiots…” His bitterness hit Sansa hard. “No, the only terror that lives around here is the Black Lion and that’s _if_ he truly exists…”

“I…” She wanted to comfort him, but the hard glare he gave her killed the words in her throat. “Um, right, so what toll do you require?”

The lust she felt hit her almost as hard as the bitterness. Sansa sighed. It was nothing new. Men who visited the shop often displayed such emotions towards her, and a proposition usually followed. Why would this man be any different?

“I require…”

 _Here it comes,_ she thought.

“Money. Food is also accepted, but not supposed to say that.” His lust had suddenly dropped, though it was still there, and he was a complete professional.

 _Wh-what?_ She looked at him in surprise.

“If you don't have either,” he said, looking off into the distant sky, “suppose I can give you some chores, but don't know how pressed for time you are. Dishes need to be cleaned, rooms need to be dusted...”

“I have money…” she said blandly and handed over twenty coppers. He counted it out and then shook his head. “I'm sorry.” Sansa reached for money bag again to pull out more.

“You gave me too much,” he said, holding out the money to her. “Only ten coppers. Here, take it, girl.”

She stared at his open hand, the ten copper coins laying in his palm. Dumbly, she picked them up, her bare skin touching his, and she was bombarded with lewd, filthy images of the man and herself. _Idiot!_ she raged at herself. She had been so befuddled by his actions that she had completely forgotten that skin to skin contact allowed her to see into that person’s mind. Surprisingly, the images weren't like the usual ones she was subjected to from the men in the village. Those men often fantasized of bending her to _their_ will. This man, his images were more… well, having her bend him to _her_ will. The one of him with his head between her legs was most interesting to her, having never seen that idea before, and she snatched her hand back from him to break the contact.

“You alright there, girl? Awfully red in the face…” he remarked.

 _You would be too if you knew that I knew what you're thinking!!_ She took a deep breath. “I'm fine. I'll be crossing again on my way back. Keep the extra money for then, in case… in case you are not around.” It was a poor excuse, and they both knew it, but he didn't call her out on it, for which she was grateful.


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of her journey paled in comparison to her encounter at the bridge. A mile after the bridge was a small hut, where Podrick and his uncle Ilyn lived. Ilyn had been sharing a booth in the city market with Sansa's father for as long as she could remember. His wares were all pottery, and he was rather good at it. Podrick, a nice boy, had taken over manning the booth for his elderly uncle last year and would make the journey with Sansa. Pod was an apprentice potter, and would eventually take over for his uncle. Ned had brought him over to the village a few times, and he had promptly fallen head over heels for Arya, who shoved him in a mud puddle and told him no man would ever own her. Pod had taken up the challenge of proving to her that he would never do such a thing, and wooed her with gifts of weapons and armor, which secretly delighted Arya. Their mother approved of Pod for the most part, but not of his approach, and turned her nose up at the gifts Ned delivered on Pod’s behalf. 

Their time in the city market was business as usual, and Sansa sold and traded everything she had brought with her. Podrick had sold out of all of his uncle’s pottery the day before, and had been scouring the market for the perfect gift to send back to Arya. They spent the night in their respective rooms at the tavern, and started loading the cart after breakfast. By the time they were both ready to go, it was midmorning. Podrick was thrilled about the present he found for Arya, a Valyrian steel dagger, with a hilt carved like a wolf’s head, and a matching sheath for it, and kept talking about it, asking Sansa over and over again if Arya would like it. Ned had mentioned that Pod was always nervous when he bought something for her sister and usually took a bit before he eventually gave it over. She reassured him that, yes, Arya would love it, and that he should visit them soon, to bring the gift to her himself and to see Arya in general.

It was a nice distraction to convince him of this, but once she left Pod on his doorstep, she had nothing to do except think about the man on the bridge. Sansa hadn't stopped thinking about him and the unusual exchange. _Why did he think things like that? Why did he not proposition me like all the other men do? Why did I find it intriguing?_ It was just so confusing. She didn't even notice she was at the bridge until she was halfway across it. The man was waiting on the other side for her.

“You're lucky you prepaid, otherwise I'd have to yell right now,” he said. Sansa felt the amusement in him though he was glaring daggers at her. She gave him the tiniest of smiles, hoping she wasn't making a mistake.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” she started. He raised his good eyebrow at that. The one on the scarred side of his face was completely gone, she noted, and wondered if he could still feel anything on that side. “I did not mean to trespass, but I was lost in thought and didn't even notice that I had crossed the bridge until too late.”

He raised what would have been his second eyebrow as well.

“Um, I brought you...food. I know I paid already, but considering you brought it up, and it was a bit unusual--”

“What kind of food?” he interrupted.

“Oh! Um, here…” Sansa rummaged through her knapsack and pulled out a loaf of bread, some cheese, and berries . She had bought it all fresh that morning, specifically for him, though she kept some of the cheese and berries for herself. He stared at the food she held out to him. “Go on, take it.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “How do I know you didn't poison them?” He was radiating distrust.

“Why would I poison you?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Free tolls?”

It was her turn to stare. “Even I know that's not a good plan in the long run. You collect tolls to maintain the bridge and if there's no one here to do that, then the bridge will fall into disrepair and I'll have to take the long way through the Whispering Woods That Have No Sunlight, which I do _not_ want to do. It's scary, it's said that when the white walkers rise, it will be from there, and adds two days to my journey. No, it is far more prudent of me to be nice to you, and take care... of… you?” He had gone from amusement to embarrassed as she spoke, though his expression had only changed slightly.

He was staring at the food in her hands. She sighed and took a bite of the cheese and ate some of the berries. The cheese was sharp, rich in flavor, and paired well with the juicy sweetness of the berries. Then she tore off the end of the bread, soft and delicious. It cleansed her palette to enjoy the next bite. “See? No poison, just good food,” she said, licking the remnants of the food from her fingers. He silently took the food from her, and her fingers brushed against the palm of his hand. Her mind was filled with his lewd thoughts about her again, though this time there was one in the forefront, an image of him feeding the berries to her and kissing her after each one. It was actually quite sweet, the only naughty part being the fact that they were both completely naked in his fantasy, and she found herself thinking about it the remainder of her journey home.


	3. Chapter 3

“Having a good morning?” Sansa asked him, handing him ten copper coins. He grumbled a response, but she could feel that he was pleased she asked, in addition to the lust. “Well, I will see you in a few days then. Oh, and here.” She handed him a covered basket. It was filled with muffins and cakes that she had made herself. He took it grudgingly, but she _knew._ He was even more pleased now.

**********

“You have a hole in your shirt,” she said, noticing it on her way back from town as she handed him her toll and some more food. She had done very well this week, news traveling about Ned Stark’s pretty daughter filling in for him while he was away with the army. People, mostly men, had clamored for both her attention and her wares. She let her fingers brush against his skin, and she saw herself in his mind, smiling up at him and felt how happy it made him. _Oh, I should do that more._ She always smiled at him, but it couldn't hurt to smile _more,_ right?

“Huh? Oh, must have happened this morning. Shame, it's fairly new, too. I'll just add it to the mend pile.” He took his shirt off and headed towards his little house. Sansa was entranced. She had seen men without shirts before, of course, but never one like _him._ He was all muscle, rippling sinew under slightly hairy skin. _It's ...intriguing,_ she decided as she slipped off her cart and followed him into his home without a second thought. It was dark, not a lot of natural light to illuminate, but she saw the pile he referred to, a more than massive pile of clothing overflowing the basket that was supposed to be holding it. He was pulling on another shirt, muttering to himself. He turned to find her poking at his mending. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

“This is a lot of work you have ahead of you,” she commented.

“Oh, yeah, I guess. Don't really know how to mend. Usually just buy more when the Tyrells come through instead.”

“The Tyrells, the clothing merchants?” she asked, appalled. The older Tyrells were snobs, though Sansa did enjoy talking to Margaery and her brother, Loras, when they passed through the village. The two youngest Tyrells traveled with their father, Mace, and his mother, Olenna, while their other siblings ran the storefront in the capital with their spouses.

“Yep. That would be them.”

“But they are horribly overpriced! And made for city folk, not country people like you and me.”

He raised his good eyebrow, as if to say they were nothing alike, but asked instead, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, it's no wonder you wear out your clothing so quickly. It's not sturdy enough for living out here.” She crossed her arms over her chest and gave the mend pile a hard look. “I have an empty basket. Put half this pile in my cart.” She looked at it again. “Make that a quarter. So many clothes…”

“Why would I do that?” he asked, distrust radiating from him again.

“Because I'm going to save you some money and mend these for you. And next time I return from town, I will show you how to mend simple tears.” She turned to him, and used her best impression of her mother to say, “All people, men and women, should know how to mend their clothing.” She was confused by the wave of lust she felt from him, but she was only slightly tempted to touch him in order to find out why. He obeyed her and put a quarter of the clothing in the empty basket, and then put that basket in her cart.

**********

“Sansa, what is all this?” her mother asked when she arrived home. She was helping Sansa unload the traded items she had received, and was looking curiously at the basket she had received from the bridge man. _I really needed to ask him his name one of these days._

“Oh, it's… um, the toll collector needed some help with his mending, so I offered.” _More like forced him, but I did it nicely!_

“Is he paying you for this?” Catelyn Stark looked at the basket with a dubious eye. “Your father found him gruff and mean. Though he did speak respectfully of him.”

She knew he wasn't as bad as he seemed. “I want to be nice to him, Mother. He's just so alone and I think he might be rather nice under all that gruff talk.”

“Hmph, I suppose. Well, as long as it doesn't interfere with your regular work, you may do as you please.” Her mother took the money Sansa had earned them and left her to her own devices.

“Thank you, Mother…” Sansa called after her and hefted the basket off the cart, carrying it up to her room.

She spent the remainder of the evening patching up his clothing, pausing only to eat supper with her available family.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: I added in a line in chapter 1, not vital to the story or anything, but just so you know, the military training Ned, Robb, and Bran are currently at is an annual thing, something that all male citizens are required to attend until they reach a certain age. It's like the military reserves.

“You finished _all_ of it?” he asked her when she returned. He had waived her toll in payment for her mending.

Sansa blushed. She had been eager to work on them, his scent still lingering on the fabrics made the chore pleasant. She had had to stop herself from using one of the longer shirts as a night dress.  “Of course! I said I would. It only took me a few evenings, to be honest. And I reinforced them as well. So it'll be a while before they need mending again.  Oh, I brought you some lunch again. I just need to get this basket inside--”

He smacked her hand away from the basket of clothes and lifted it out of the cart himself, but not before she saw a curious image. It was the two of them, sitting under the trees in front of his house, eating a picnic lunch. It was overlapping with other images of him pleasuring her in the same location, screaming out what she supposed was his name, but the picnic one was much stronger than the others. In that one, she spoke his name as well, but she was saying it so softly, lovingly. _“Sandor…”_ She felt a little lightheaded from it, and her heart was racing. “You coming in or what?” he asked, turning around to look at her.

“What?”

“You said lunch.”

“Oh! Yes, of course…” Sansa reached for the basket she had brought for him. Her own lunch was waiting for her at the Paynes, but she suddenly felt like it would be nice to have that picnic he wanted. Minus the lovingly said name, because how could she love him? She had only seen him five times now! Barely knew him! It was preposterous! Or so she kept telling herself as she walked the short distance to his home.

Once she was inside his house, she handed him the basket. “Unfortunately, I cannot stay…” She felt his pang of disappointment. “As I do have to be at the Paynes by high noon--”

“The Paynes? The silent potter and his goofy nephew?” he interjected. She nodded and felt his disappointment grow. “I see…”

She didn't know why he was sinking lower into the black mood he was currently in, but she didn't need to be an empath to see that he was mentally beating himself up over whatever it was that set him off. All she could tell, without touching him, was that it was about the Paynes. “Mr. Payne is a friend and business associate of my father,” she said quickly. He looked up at her. “And young Podrick is wooing my sister. I hope to see him propose to her soon, though she will have to wait until I am married before they can be married.” She clasped her hands together, suddenly nervous. “Tradition is a bit silly, not allowing a younger daughter to marry first, just because the elder hasn't found someone… and who knows when _that_ will be. I have no suitors that I would be willing to marry. No one who has proven worth my time or interest…”

His disappointment faded fast, and was replaced by a white light of hope that warmed her, calmed her. “Oh…” was all he said.

She nodded again, her face feeling like it was on fire. She was grateful that his house was a little dark, so that he couldn't see her blushing again. “I should go. Um… I'll see you on the return trip.” Sansa didn't wait to hear his reply or see if he followed.

**********

 _What on earth possessed me to tell him that?_ she wondered to herself for the millionth time. Sales were a bit slow at the moment, the visit of Count Baratheon and his son were drawing crowds away from the market. Sansa sighed. Her father claimed that she had been betrothed to the Count’s son for a brief period of time, until the Countess called it off, stating that her son was worth more than a merchant’s daughter. Sansa had been crushed when she first heard, but stories of the next count, Joffrey Baratheon, had cured her of that. He was the worst, if even a tenth of the stories were true.

It took an extra two days to sell everything she had brought. Pod was barely able to sell the last piece of pottery just as Sansa sold her last bolt of cloth. They had both been worried they would be forced to take home unsellable wares. They hurried to the tavern to pick up their belongings and get out of town. Her mother and his uncle would be worried sick and both Sansa and Pod just wanted to get home.

**********

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon when she dropped Pod off, and Sansa pushed Whiteheart more than she normally would, her heart beating quickly as they went along the well worn dirt path. It was dark by the time she reached the bridge and she couldn't see the rushing water below, but she could certainly hear it. Fear had set in already and increased as she imagined Whiteheart taking a wrong step and both of them tumbling into the violent river. One wrong step. She'd never see her sister and brothers again. One wrong step. She’d never see her parents again. One wrong step… and she’d never see Sandor again. Yet, she couldn’t stay in the same spot until morning. There were wolves and bears, as well as the grumpkins and snarks that lived in the woods.

She gripped the reins tightly, unable to push Whiteheart to move. The bridge was barely visible in the poor light of the stars, and she _knew_ if she made it across, then she could see Sandor, and he would help her. “J-just cr-oss the br-bridge… I… I c-can d-d-do this…” she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. She wiped at them harshly, knowing Arya would tease her for crying. “I can do this,” she said louder, willing herself to snap the reins, but no movement came. “I can… I can… I _can't_ do this…” she sobbed. “Sandooooor…” she wailed.

“Little bird?” she heard someone say. She turned to see _him,_ stepping out of the trees, a lamp in his hand and look of relief on his face when he saw her. “I was getting worried.”

She didn't think before reacting, and flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He was startled, but held her up. “You're alright, little bird, you're alright.” His voice was surprisingly comforting as he stroked her hair. She had little time to wonder about the nickname he had called her as the images flooded her mind from his. They were not lewd in the slightest, and were only of him and herself, and various forms of comfort. All of them very nice and exactly what she needed at the moment. She particularly liked the one of him snuggling her under the starry sky, like he kind of was now, but minus the fear and adding in laying on the ground, wrapped in a blanket. Her heart had calmed.

“The market was slow,” she said. “Had to stay longer than planned but… we couldn't stay another day once we were done, needed to get home… tried to beat the sun…”

“And you ended up getting stuck in the dark,” he finished for her. “Come on, let's get you across in one piece.” He placed her gently on the cart. “You take the reins, I'll lead the horse. You can stay the night with me and get a fresh start in the morning.”

Sansa breathed easier, knowing that she was safe, though if you asked her why she felt safe with this scary giant, she wouldn't have been able to tell you why.

**********

“You make good soup.”

Sansa looked over at Sandor, who was enjoying the supper she had made them. “Thank you. My Nan and my father taught me how to cook. My mother isn't particularly gifted in the kitchen, but Father… he could have cooked for royalty if Nan is to be believed.” She smiled. “It was the only thing I could think of to do to repay you for your hospitality.”

A wave of lust rose up from him, but he just nodded. She had an inkling of what he was thinking and she smiled to herself.

“You can take the bed,” he said, slurping up the soup. Some of it dribbled down the scarred side of his mouth, and Sansa gently wiped it up for him. He mumbled an embarrassed thanks before continuing. “I'll sleep on the floor--”

“Oh, but… I'm sorry. I don't want to put you out…”

He waved her off. “Don't worry about it. I used to be in the King’s army. I've slept on far worse. At least here,” he gestured to the floor. “I have a soft pallet, and a roof over my head.”

“But…”

He leaned in, an evil grin on his face. “Unless you _want_ to share a bed with me?”

He was just joking, she _knew_ this, but Sansa went bright red at the thought nonetheless, remembering some of his thoughts from when she first met him. He seemed satisfied with her silence and finished his food, looking at her every so often and chuckling.

When they bedded down for the night, Sansa listened to the sounds of the countryside. It was different from her home village and from the town she traveled to. It was much quieter, for one thing, even quieter than her village. She could hear the nocturnal animals outside, the gentle hooting of an owl, the howling of a pack of wolves, and various other creatures. It was nice. She shifted in the bed, and the sudden scent of Sandor hit her nose. It was _really_ nice as she buried her face in his pillow, the urge she had had while mending his clothes finally satisfied. She felt at peace as she drifted off…

Then the shrieking started. Sansa sat up straight in the bed. Sandor snorted in his sleep and rolled over. It wasn’t loud, if she was being honest, but against the quiet of the area, it was still so very loud.

“Sandor?” she whispered. The shrieking was varying in volume. “Sandor??”

He snorted again. Sansa crept out of the bed and crawled over to the man sleeping on the floor. He was lying on his side, his back to the bed, but she went around to the other side. His facial scars, shiny smooth in the low light of the dying embers, were facing her.

“Sandor…” She shook his shoulder a little, but still nothing. He was out like a light. Sansa sighed, trying to ignore the unnerving sound, but failing. Her gaze shifted to his face, and she lay down a small distance from him, studying his features as he slept. He was actually quite handsome, though not in the same sense as her brother Robb and cousin Jon, who were popular with the women in their village for their pretty faces. No, Sandor was more of a rustic kind of handsome, in the same way her father was, though the only similarity between the two men was their grey eyes. Sandor’s hair was much darker, his nose was hooked, and slightly crooked, probably from being broken. He had other scars, she noticed. Scars from weapons, scars from war, or maybe even just scars from practicing to go to war. Sansa said a quick prayer to the gods to watch over her father and brothers, though they were only in training at the moment. 

Sansa watched Sandor until the embers in the fireplace had died and she was in near complete darkness. The shrieking from outside had already ceased, but she hadn't been able to bring herself to move away. What little light there was allowed her to see his silhouette, and she leaned forward suddenly, not allowing herself to think about what she was doing lest she not be able to go through with it, and kissed him. Images filled her mind, not the usual barrage, but slow and gentle. He was dreaming and she could see it as clearly as a picture.

_They stood in front of a waterfall, hands clasped together, her in her best dress and him in his nicest clothing. Her family stood with them, though only her father was clear while the rest were blurred. The couple smiled at each other as they said their vows._

_Sansa sat in front of the fireplace, knitting, when Sandor came into their small home. “How's my favorite girl?” he asked and kissed her on the forehead. “You rested enough, yes?” His hand slid under her knitting project to stroke her swollen belly. “The maester will be by to check on you in a week, little bird.”_

_Their children ran around the yard, playing with the puppy they had found on their last trip to town. Sansa was standing behind Sandor as he sat on the porch, her arms around his neck and dangling over his chest as she kissed him, telling him how much she loved him._

_Their children were grown, and moving out of the home they had been raised in to build their own lives, to seek their fortunes in the world. Sandor felt new life enter him as he playfully chased Sansa around the now empty house, their privacy restored from “young eyes.” When he caught her, he was going to show her how much youth he still had in him._

_They lay in bed together, his black hair now grey, his once muscular frame diminished, though he was still stronger than most men his age. Their hands were intertwined, their skin wrinkly and delicate, but the look in his eyes showed that his love for her was as strong as ever. “My little bird…” he whispered to her as they fell asleep._

Sansa sat up with a start. _What...what was that??_ She got up off the floor, making sure Sandor was still asleep, and went back to the bed. Her heart beat quickly, and she fell asleep thinking about, and wanting, what she had seen.


	5. Chapter 5

Sansa was in a daze once she got back home. She went about her duties at the store but when asked, she couldn't remember what she had done. She tried to go about her life as normal. She worked on a sewing project after supper in the evenings. She watched over Rickon and her cousin Sweetrobin while her mother and aunts spun, wove and dyed the cloth they sold. She spoke to Arya about Pod, and what a fine husband he would be to her. Mostly, though, she thought about Sandor's dreams. The more she thought about them, the less crazy it seemed that she had already accepted them as a possible future.

He was a good man, if a little rough around the edges, and he never spoke to her like she was _just_ a pretty face. Granted, they hadn't had a lot of conversations outside of the brief moments she saw him when she crossed the bridge and the one night she spent with him. Still, she knew he valued her opinion, and she enjoyed his company greatly.

**********

“How's it going?” she asked on her next trip.

He shrugged, took her money, and said, “Same old, same old.”

“That bad, huh?”

He looked up at her smiling face and smiled back. “Could be worse. Could be raining. Could be that you hadn't come by.”

“Could be that I forgot to bring you your usual treats,” she said, handing him a basket of goodies. “Could be that I didn't arrive early enough to have lunch with you,” she said softly. She had told Pod she would not be joining him and his uncle for lunch when she dropped him off last time, before she had seen the dreams. If anything, the dreams just reinforced her desire to get to know him better.

Sandor's eyes went a little wide, but he nodded vigorously. “That would be worse.”

He helped her down from the cart and retrieved another basket of the lunch she had made them.

**********

Several days later, Sansa was back in Sandor's home, her trip to the market being much more successful this time around. “And then, Arya attacked the man, biting and clawing at him, screaming at him to leave me alone.” Sansa had been telling Sandor about how some men were too forward with her, which had lead to a story about how Arya had once been arrested by the village magistrate for defending her sister’s honor. Arya had held her head high, and though their parents had to publicly declare their younger daughter to be a savage, they had held their heads high as well. The entire family was proud of Arya.

“Sounds like a hellcat. I like her already. Ow...” Sansa had set to keeping her promise to teach him to mend his vast amount of clothing. He was… less than adequate at the task, but was determined to learn.

Sansa giggled. “You have to pay attention to the stitches, otherwise you end up pricking yourself. As for Arya… She would never admit to liking someone, even if they were high in her regards, but I believe you two would get along well.”

“So you're not really supposed to be alone?” he asked, pausing and looking up at her. “With single men?”

“Mmmhmm. Too many have tried things like that, and I can barely defend myself. The fact that Pod would accompany me is one of the reasons I was allowed to take Father’s place at the market, because my family trusts him and they know he will protect me. And the other vendors do as well, when Pod isn't around.”

“What about me? I'm an unmarried man, one that could easily take advantage of you and the solitude of this area.” He was watching her carefully. She felt his apprehension for her answer.

“Well, Father trusts you, and I trust you. And that's all that matters, isn't it?”

She felt his surprise. “You trust me?”

“Of course. I wouldn't be here, in your home, teaching you to mend, if I didn't trust you.” Sansa had thought about their lunch the entire time she had been in town. He had made her laugh so much, surprising her with his sharp wit. She hadn't wanted to leave, but her duty to her family and the business was too strong to ignore. “I mean, we’re friends, are we not? And friends trust each other.”

“Hmph, I suppose,” he said nonchalantly, but she felt his happiness. “Ow.”

“Here,” she said, taking the fabric from him. “Let’s take a break. I can tend to your wounds and then make an early supper.”

“Why early?” he asked, watching as she got bandages to wrap his punctured fingers in.

“I have to get home. My mother will worry if I stay too long. She’s already asking why I come home so late…” Sansa worried that her mother might stop her from going to the market if she knew why Sansa was coming home late.

“She doesn’t know you spend time with me?”

“She’s a bit old fashioned,” Sansa explained. “If she knew… she might forbid me from going to the market and start taking the task on herself.” Sansa finished wrapping his hands. “There.”

“Would she… Would she not approve of me? As a friend, I mean…” he mumbled, not looking Sansa in the eye.

She sighed. “I don’t know. I would hope so, but… my mother is… Well… She came from a good family, middle class. They fell on hard times after her mother, my grandmother, died. By the time Mother was ready to marry, they had little to offer others of their class, and she ended up marrying my father, an up and coming merchant. Now, it worked out, because they did fall in love after marriage, but she still has a peculiar way of looking at things. If Pod wasn’t such a darling boy, she probably wouldn’t see him as ‘good enough’ for Arya, though we are all aware that Arya would have a hard time getting a husband that isn’t open minded to her proclivities.”

“Strange…” Sandor muttered.

“Yes. She can be very taxing on the nerves. I love her, of course, but… she’s taxing. Anyway, enough about her. You said you hunted boar yesterday?”

“Yes. Big one, too. Nearly killed a man, but I saved him with my arrows. Most of it is being preserved for winter, but I have some ready to cook.” He tilted his head, watching her curiously. “Were you ever scared of me?”

“Scared?” She thought back to when she first saw him. “Only when I thought you were a troll. Once I realized you were a human, not really.”

“Oh… Alright then. Meat’s in the chilled box.”

**********

“Sansa! I’m so glad you made it home in time,” her mother exclaimed, greeting Sansa at the door. Her mother never met her at the door. Something was amiss. “We have guests. Come in, come in, I’ll have one of the servants unload the cart.”

_Servants? We don’t have servan--_

Sansa stopped dead in her tracks when she saw a lavish spread on the dining table. Men and women in smart uniforms were buzzing about their home, carrying lamps and trays, food and drink. “Mother? What’s going on?”

“It’s marvelous, sweetling!” her mother said happily. “Count Baratheon is visiting. He’s brought his children, and do you remember your father telling you how you and the eldest Baratheon boy were betrothed for a short while?”

“Yes… why?” Panic was beginning to set in.

“Well, his wife passed away, and since she was the only reason the betrothal was cancelled, Count Baratheon would like to reinstate it. You’re going to be a Countess! Isn’t that exciting?” Her mother looked so happy, Sansa couldn’t tell her the truth, that she wanted no part of the future Count Joffrey Baratheon.


	6. Chapter 6

“And of course, let's not forget that it was due to my _superb_ intellect and diplomacy that the king was saved from wearing that _awful_ ensemble,” Joffrey said, raising his goblet and drinking heavily of the sweet wine. She wasn't sure how he could stand the drink at so early an hour, or while they were out on a walk, but as long as he didn't force her to partake, there was little else to say about it. Sansa had been stuck with entertaining the count’s son for the morning. They had been walking around the village aimlessly, with him making rude or snide comments about _everything,_ and were near the Poole General Store that also raised pigs and sheep for slaughtering.

So far, he had boasted about anything he could think of, told awful stories that only he laughed at, and had made wind no less than five times. “Oh, there I go again. Bacon makes me so gassy.” Make that six times. Her father whispered to her that the upper class saw this as a compliment to the good food they ate on a constant basis. Sansa had only had two meals and already she felt stagnant and bloated.

_How is the upper class able to function if they eat like this all the time?_ she wondered.

She couldn't help but think of Sandor and how different he was from this supposedly elite boy. Unlike Joffrey, he kept his mouth shut when chewing and didn't talk or spew food. Unlike Joffrey, he listened to her speak and interacted with her, engaging her in active conversation. Unlike Joffrey, he didn't stink up the room with noxious fumes. Most of all, unlike Joffrey, she actually wanted to be in Sandor's presence.

“You're going to make an excellent wife if you keep up like this,” Joffrey said. Sansa felt a wave of lust, making her shudder a bit in response. Another difference, Sandor's lust was refreshing and made her feel wanted. Joffrey’s just made her feel like scrubbing with a scouring pad to get clean. She supposed he was good looking, but he was much too baby faced for her tastes. He was older than her, but looked as if he was Bran’s age. He didn't even need to shave, his face was so smooth.

“My lord,” she said gently, “You cannot possibly want me for a wife. What good would it do you? I am not trained in the way of diplomacy or anything the upper class learns since childhood. I would be an embarrassment to you.”

Joffrey laughed hard. “Like that matters! You have a pleasing face and a body to match.” His eyes wandered down her figure and she shuddered again. His lust was like pond scum, slimy and made her stomach turn. “You'll see more of the bedroom than society.”

“Forgive me, _my lord,_ but it sounds like you are more interested in having a courtesan than a wife.” Sansa grit her teeth and forced down the impulse to shove the man into the nearby pig pen.

“Ideally, yes. But Father says I must wed and that it would be destiny if I married you.”

“Destiny?” The notion was absurd. How could this fop be her destiny? She needed someone strong, independent, someone who she could speak to, discuss things with, someone like… Two grey eyes flashed in her mind, then a low chuckle, and only one eyebrow arched in amusement. Sandor. _Fuck destiny,_ he would say. _I make my own._  

Joffrey had no idea what conclusion she had just come to and kept talking. “Yes, _destiny._ Apparently, my father wanted to marry your aunt. But his father forbid it, since she was lower class. He was forced to marry my mother, and your aunt went and married some hunter, but he always wanted to join our families.” Joffrey shrugged. “Could be worse. Could have been your sister.”

“She's spoken for,” Sansa said.

“You're jesting! Who would want to marry that failure of a female?”

She could have walked away, and in hindsight, probably _should_ have, but nobody insulted her sister and got away with it. The last thing Joffrey saw before tumbling into the middle of the pig pen was Sansa's fist heading straight towards his eye.

**********

“I am not marrying this barbarian!” Joffrey screamed at his father and pointing at Sansa. He was holding a cold compress to his blackened eye. “She hit me!”

"He insulted Arya," Sansa whispered to her father. He nodded in sympathy.

“Yes, well, it seems you two have gotten off to a rough start…” Count Robert Baratheon was a portly man, and Sansa could see that he was trying with his son, but all he really wanted to do was knock some sense into the boy. “Ned, help me out here.”

“If they don't want to marry, I don't see why we should force them. You and Cersei were made to wed, and look how that turned out.” Her father gave the count a look, which humbled the man.

“Yes, well, they just need to really get to know one another, that's all. I will buy a house here, and we will come by every day so that that may happen. I'm sure that these two will come to see that they are meant to be!” Count Baratheon looked hopeful but Sansa knew this was not something that would work itself out.

**********

“You are in the way, _my lord._ Please move.”

Joffrey looked at her with contempt and made a visibly slow effort to move. Sansa grit her teeth and forced herself to smile at her customer. It had been three weeks since the Baratheon family had been living in the village. Joffrey complained about nearly everything and the count wouldn't stop flirting with all the women around him, including Sansa's aunt, the woman he had wanted to marry years ago.

Lyanna ignored the count for the most part, but when he became too intolerable, she would make a big show of affection to her husband, Rhaegar, one of the village hunters. They really were in love, but Lyanna felt the need to remind the count when his unwanted attention became too much. Rhaegar didn't mind one bit, content to let his wife do as she pleased. Lyanna confided to Sansa that she hadn't been interested in the count in their youth, and she had no idea where he got the idea that she was heartbroken to not marry him. "More like relieved," she confided.

The other two Baratheon children were much easier to get along with. Tommen, the youngest, doted on the village cats, feeding them whenever he had the chance. Myrcella, the middle child, was a sweet dear and Sansa adored her, even if she couldn't really do anything useful. She tried, and reminded Sansa of Sandor in her determination to learn the Starks business. The fact that Robb would smile and praise Myrcella went a long way in the girl’s efforts.

_Too bad Count Baratheon can't see the match that would actually work is Robb and Myrcella, not Joffrey and myself._ Sansa sighed and shook the cobwebs of her mind. Soon, she would possibly be taking her final journey to the market. Her father wanted to see how well she did, and if he approved, she would be allowed to accompany him for further trips.

**********

“Sandor! Good to see you again. It's been so long,” Ned said jovially.

“Stark,” Sandor grunted in greeting and took the money from him, glancing up at Sansa. “Miss Stark.”

Sansa was disappointed. She had grown accustomed to being called _little bird._ “Good morning, Sandor. You are doing well?”

“Suppose so. Have a good journey.” He turned to leave.

“Wait!” Both her father and Sandor looked at her in surprise. She blushed profusely and held out a covered basket. “Your _other_ toll.”

He took it hesitantly, glancing over at Ned. “Many thanks, Miss Stark.”

“It's your favorite,” she said, persisting with the conversation. She wanted to show her father that she had a relationship of sorts with Sandor. “Cinnamon muffins.”

He looked down at the basket and she felt his embarrassed amusement, mixed with a bit of gratitude. “Yes, that is my favorite.”

She smiled brightly at him. “I was thinki--”

“What a monster!”

All three of them turned to see Joffrey approaching on his thoroughbred horse, munching on a sandwich that was likely intended for his lunch later on. The meat fat dripped down onto his silk trousers.

“I beg your pardon, _my lord,_ but you should not be so rude,” Sansa said icily.

Sandor chuckled. “Don't get your feathers in a twist,” he told her. “I've heard worse.”

“Still…” she said.

“What are you doing here, Joffrey?” Ned asked.

Joffrey belched. “Father said I have to go with you. Wants me to spend time with my future bride.”

Sansa felt Sandor's mood change suddenly, a black cloud descending upon him. “That's not-- You don't even like me!” she protested.

“Don't have to like you to marry you, or put a baby in your belly,” Joffrey said, looking bored. Sansa felt a flare of jealousy from Sandor.

“Son, if you'd rather turn around and return to the village, I would completely understand,” Ned said. “In fact, I think it would be for the best if you did.”

Joffrey shrugged. “Eh, it'll be nice to go to a town that has modern conveniences.”

Sansa grumbled, and turned back to Sandor only to find he had walked off, leaving the basket she had given him by the side of the road.


	7. Chapter 7

For the millionth time, she wished she had gone to Sandor and told him she had no intention of marrying Joffrey, and she was absolutely certain her father would back her up on the decision.

She slumped against the side of their booth. Pod was animatedly talking to a customer in the next booth and her father was quietly counting their till. Many people had been happy to see him again, as he was well liked by the community and had been genuinely missed.

Joffrey had absconded to the tavern and was running up a tab in his father’s name. Sansa was grateful that Joffrey wasn't actively pursuing her, but also upset that he took his father’s word for it that they would marry.

“That Sandor is a nice man, isn't he?” her father said suddenly. Sansa looked over at him. He was still counting the money.

“He is,” she replied carefully. “I truly consider him someone… special.”

Her father smiled. “I thought as much. He's a good man, deep down. Once we get back home and give Joffrey back to his father, why don't you and I take a short trip around the area? Possibly over near the river, talk to the folks there…”

Sandor was the only person who lived near the river and Sansa's heart jumped with joy. “Yes! I would like that very much.”

“Thought you might.”

**********

Sansa could barely contain her excitement. The entire trip home was taking far too long, and she wished they could have left Joffrey back in town. He kept needing to stop and rest. Pod, usually ever cheerful, was also getting annoyed by their unwanted guest and commented to Sansa that he hoped the Baratheon family soon had a swift and safe departure back home.

Sansa smiled and said, “Well, maybe just the male Baratheons.” She told Pod a bit about Myrcella and the girl’s interest in Robb. Pod amended his well wishes for the Baratheons at that.

They were almost at the Payne house when they saw Pod’s uncle running towards them, waving his arms frantically. Pod waved back, smiling, but Sansa could feel Ilyn’s panic and fear from even that distance. Ned was pushing Sansa and Pod into the back of the cart when an explosion sent Ilyn flying towards them. He landed on Ned and they both tumbled out of the cart. Joffrey’s horse threw him off and ran. Whiteheart reared up so quickly and with such strength that he snapped the meager restraints and fled into the forest, whinnying in terror.

Sansa looked up into the sky to see something she never thought possible. The Black Lion. No one had ever seen it and it was thought to be a fairy tale! But there it was, soaring through the sky as it jumped from treetop to treetop, chasing… Sansa’s eyes went wide. It wasn’t possible, but there it was, right in front of her eyes, the giant Lone Hound, said to be the eternal enemy of the Lion and sworn hero to mankind. He was strong, majestic, with fur as black as night, and he… was bleeding. A lot. Sansa shrieked as the Lion caught the Hound, ripping into its flank with its claws and breathing exploding fireballs right into the Hound’s face.

“No…” she heard behind her. Her father had gotten up off the ground and was staring at the fight above them. “No, this isn’t good. If they’re fighting…”

Sansa gulped. As the stories went, when the Black Lion returns, the Lone Hound would be drawn out to protect his beloved world, but should the Lone Hound die, then the Black Lion would consume the world. “It’s… It’s just a story isn’t it?” she asked. “The Black Lion wouldn’t… It wouldn’t _really_ destroy us… would it?” The look on her father’s face spoke volumes. “No… Is there nothing we can do?!”

“We are but mortals watching titans fight,” Ned said. “We can only pray, and get out of their way.”

Ilyn was motioning frantically, and Pod translated. “Uncle says that we need to leave immediately. It’s not just the mythical creatures in the sky that we need to worry abo--” Pod’s eyes went wide as he stared behind Sansa and Ned. “RUN!”

Sansa turned and screamed. _White walkers!_ The frozen dead, brought back to life by the Black Lion, and heading straight towards them. Sansa backed up, and tripped over something soft on the ground, landing on her backside. It was Joffrey, knocked unconscious from when his horse had thrown him. She had completely forgotten about the man. She looked up to see that the white walkers were getting closer. She scrambled to Joffrey, and tried to wake him. He was the equivalent of a donkey’s behind, but she couldn’t let him die without at least trying to help him.

Strong arms went around her waist, lifting her up, and she felt extreme panic flood her senses. Not her own panic, but someone else’s panic for her. _Sandor!_ He was carrying her away to safety, but she cried out, “We have to save Joffrey! He’s completely defenseless!”

Sandor stopped. She felt the turmoil beneath his exterior. Sansa touched his neck and heard his mind.

_If I save him, he’ll end up marrying her and giving her babies._

_If I leave him, she’ll be free of him. Free to… Free to be with me if she wants..._

_But…_

_How can I look her in the eyes if I did that…_

He set her down and ran back for Joffrey, narrowly missing a slash from a white walker with a sword. He ran back to her, grabbing her as he went and taking off away from the fighting and the white walkers. They caught up with Ned, Ilyn and Pod, who had not realized that Sansa had fallen behind or that Joffrey had been unable to flee on his own.

They took cover in a shallow cave. Ned, Sandor and Ilyn immediately began making it defendable, leaving Sansa and Pod to tend to Joffrey.

“Where did he come from?” Pod asked Sansa. “We’re nowhere near the toll bridge.”

“Sandor? Oh, he…” She stopped. How _did_ he get there? How had he known they would need help? That _she_ would need help? “I don’t know… but we’re lucky he was there. Otherwise, neither Joffrey or I would be here.”

“Well, I’m glad _you_ are ok.” Pod looked down at Joffrey. “I suppose it’s good he’s fine, too.”

The fighting of the two great creatures shook the earth whenever they touched down, making Sansa curl into a ball. Pod just patted her shoulder before going over to join Ned and Ilyn, who were huddled together, in order to translate for Ilyn. Sandor joined her, sitting close enough for her to feel the warmth of his body. It was offset by the cold sadness she felt from him.

“How’s the rich boy doing?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know. He’s alive, and he’ll probably have a headache once this is over, assuming the Hound wins against the Lion and we live.” She looked up at him. "Sandor... I--"

The ground began to rumble. Sansa clung to Sandor, but all six of the party went rolling as the ground shifted and moved. They were out of the cave and in the open, exposed to any possible attacks. Sandor held onto to Sansa protectively as they all looked up in wonder. Standing in front of them, having emerged from the ground they were standing on, was a giant stone wolf. The cave they had taken shelter in had been the wolf’s ear.

The wolf shook itself, and the stone fell away to reveal a bright red fur. “The Red Lady…” Ned muttered as they watched the wolf jump towards the dueling Lion and Hound. “The stories say that she would arise and decide the fate for the world, when her true love needs her the most.”

The Red Lady attacked the Lion, and together with the Hound, the small group watched in wonder as they defeated the awful creature that would have consumed the world. The Hound and the Red Wolf nuzzled each other for a moment, finally reunited, before disappearing into the wind.

Stunned, the group walked back to the Payne's house, Sandor carrying Joffrey, who was still unconscious. Sansa marveled at the fact that Sandor was able to carry the boy with only one arm. Joffrey was  _not_ light. Whiteheart was at the cart when they reached it, looking sheepish for running off, Joffrey's thoroughbred close behind, looking annoyed to see Joffrey again. 

**********

“Thank you for saving him," she said suddenly. Sansa and Ned had left the Payne's place and were at Sandor's. Ned was cooking and had asked them to go retrieve more firewood. Joffrey had woken up and complained of how small Sandor's house was and promptly left, much to his horse's dismay. The horses were being treated to apples, a reward for returning to their humans.

"Hmm?" Sandor asked. He was holding the small stack of firewood, again under just one arm. 

"Joffrey," she said. "It was very brave of you to go back for him. Noble, even. Definitely admirable."

“Ah. Well, if you can’t save your friend’s future husband, what good are you, you know?” His words and mood held no bitterness, only sorrow. “When is the blessed day?”

Sansa shook her head. “It’s not… We’re not…” She could feel it. He didn’t believe she wouldn’t marry Joffrey. It was actual fact in his mind. Getting up on her toes, she leaned towards him, grasping his head in her hands, and kissed him hard, the firewood falling to the ground next to them. The explosion of feelings and thoughts nearly knocked her away, but she held on and soon felt his arms wrapping around her as he returned the kiss. When she finally pulled away, she touched her forehead to his, their breath mingling in the space between them. “I’m not going to marry Joffrey,” she whispered. “My father will make sure of that. If… If you are… If it pleases you, I would like to… marry you.”

“Me?” he asked, dumbfounded, “You want to marry me?”

“Yes… I… How could I not? I know your heart, your mind, and I want to be your wife. I think you would like to be my husband as well,” she said with a smile. He nodded, and they both smiled. “Then, it is settled..." 


	8. Epilogue

Their wedding became a double wedding when Pod finally got the courage to visit Arya and ask for her hand. It wasn’t quite what Sansa had seen in Sandor’s dreams, but it was close enough and much more delightful.

Ilyn moved to town, opening up a storefront for both the Paynes pottery and the Starks cloths. Pod was raised from apprentice to journeyman potter, and he and Arya also moved to town. The mayor of the town was very impressed with Arya when broke up a drunken fight at the tavern, and offered her the chance to train with the town’s guard, with the end goal of becoming part of the guard. It was a historic first, and Arya jumped at it. She ended up doing so well, that within two years, she was head of the guard.

Robert was depressed when he heard that Sansa would not be marrying his son, but then delighted when he found out that Robb and Myrcella were going to marry instead. He didn’t even mind that Myrcella would be joining the Starks business as a saleswoman, taking Sansa’s place in the front room and in town. She didn’t have Sansa’s empathic ability but she had a natural charm that made her just as successful.

As good as she was at making sales, Sansa actually found it to be very taxing on herself and was relieved that she wouldn’t have to do it anymore. She still wanted to help with the family business, and her father had an extra room built onto Sandor’s house for her to have as a workroom, complete with a loom and spindle. She loved the solitude of her work, but loved her husband for supporting her in her desire to continue with the family business.

They were laying in bed one night, when Sansa asked him, “This may be out of the blue, but… how did you know we needed help that day? The day the Lion and the Hound fought?”

He looked at her in surprise. “Oh, that… uh…”

They were already touching skin, and Sansa saw the answer in his mind. He had been chopping wood in the yard, before the fighting had even started, when he received a vision of Sansa dying at the hands of a white walker. He had _seen_ them, before they had happened, in his mind. 

“You _saw_ it??” she exclaimed. “In a vision??” She also saw the memories of the sexy dreams he had had of her before ever meeting her, of her needing him when she was lost in the dark, and of the possible future of her marrying Joffrey. 

He was _really_ surprised by that. “How did you…” His eyes went flat for a bit. “You can read minds?!”

"Only when I touch someone, skin to skin," she said. They both stared at each other, then burst out laughing. "So, this means, you knew me before you met me?"

He nodded. "Not a lot, mind you. When I first met your father and he shook my hand, I had a flash of you. As time went on, he would sometimes speak of you and I would get more visions of you. Dreams, too, but... I'm not certain of if those were visions or just my fanciful imagination. Seeing you in person that first time... I couldn't stop thinking about all fantasies I dreamed up."

"Oh, I know. I saw them." He had the decency to blush, but he was also grinning like a madman. "But...if you can see the future, why didn't you know I wouldn't be marrying Joffrey?"

Sandor stared up at the ceiling. "The future isn't set in stone. The past, certainly, there's nothing that can be done to change it. But the future...so many possibilities are open to people if they just take the time to _look._ It's like a stream of water, changing as it is influenced by the decisions we make every single day. So, I saw a future of the two of us together, but I also saw one of you and that rich boy. The path to get to me and you was... I couldn't see it. Couldn't get my head out of my ass long enough to see that you preferred me."

"I'm glad it wasn't left up to you then." Sandor snorted, but agreed. “How is it possible?” she said with a giggle, “That we both have these... abilities?”

“That is something I’ve never been able to figure out. I’ve tried, but if something is determined to be hidden, not even my visions can show it to me.”

“Do you think our children will have abilities like ours? Would make raising them easier and harder at the same time, I think.” She snuggled closer to him.

“It’s possible. Whatever happens, we’ll handle it together.”

The dream visions Sansa had once spied upon came true, one by one, and they may have fought sometimes, especially over what was best for their children, but they loved more. In the end, they may not have lived the typical happily ever after, but they lived and they were happy.


End file.
